


Ealdor

by Onehelluvapilot



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, BAMF Hunith (Merlin), Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Hunith is a Good Mom, Men Crying, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mother-Son Relationship, POV Hunith (Merlin), POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, Past Gwen/Lancelot (Merlin), Post-Episode s02e04: Lancelot and Guinevere, Post-Episode: s01e10 The Moment of Truth, Post-Episode: s03e12-13 The Coming of Arthur, Some Humor, Some angst, Will (Merlin) Deserved Better, no beta we die like women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:16:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25404475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onehelluvapilot/pseuds/Onehelluvapilot
Summary: When Lancelot decides to leave at the end of s02e04: Lancelot and Guinevere, instead of letting him wander aimlessly, Merlin sends him to his mother Hunith with a note.Based on this discussion (https://queennuthouse.tumblr.com/post/623689426904793088/gremlinbehaviour-queennuthouse) on Tumblr.
Relationships: Hunith & Lancelot (Merlin), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 41
Kudos: 83





	1. The Letter

Hunith, out sweeping her stoop near dusk, was the first to know when the stranger came to town. He wore chainmail and a sword hung from his belt and she considered running to the warning bell they had installed in the village square. It may have been over a year since the bandits had been seen, but the memories hadn’t faded as quickly as the funeral pyres. She watched suspiciously as he approached her and gripped the broom handle a little tighter. If he intended to rob her, he would not find an easy target.

“My lady, I am sorry to intrude, but is this the village of Ealdor?” he asked politely. He did not sound like a bandit or a rough man.

“It is,” she answered.

“Then I am looking for a woman by the name of Hunith.”

“You’ve found her,” she said. What did this man want?

"My lady, my name is Lancelot. I am a friend of Merlin," he introduced himself with a bow. "I bring a letter from your son." He retrieved a folded piece of paper from below his chainmail. It was slightly crumpled, but that was to be expected if he’d traveled any distance. He still presented it to her like a courier would to a high-born lady, held in both hands with a slight bend at the knees and an inclination of his head. The letter had no envelope or seal but it was clear from the crispness of the folds that it hadn’t been opened since it was written. Lancelot must've taken very good care of it.

_ Hello Mother, _

_I hope this letter finds you safe and well. I'll come visit you, and Lancelot,_ _as soon as Arthur gives me a vacation. Or, well, as soon as I claim one, since Arthur will never give me it, that clotpole. Anyway, I know you've missed having me as a helper since you loaned me out to Gaius, so I've sent you Lancelot in my stead. He is a good and noble man, if sometimes a little misguided. And I think he could use a mother; his own family died when he was young and he's been through a lot. He is a hard worker and an excellent fighter; you'll be safe with him around. I love you. Be well._

"Well then," Hunith said, folding up the note and tucking it into her own pocket. "You must be tired from your journey. Come in and get something to eat."

"Thank you, my lady."

"Call me Hunith, please." She pulled out a small loaf of bread and the remains of some soup and placed it on the table for Lancelot. "How do you know my son?"

"He helped me become a knight, though it didn’t last, and defeat a Griffin. He is the best and bravest man I have ever known." The woman beamed to hear that of her son.

"He is well, then? He never writes enough about himself in his letters."

"They focus on Arthur, don't they?" Lancelot asked, a smile of his own upon his face. Hunith nodded. "Typical. As much as they fight, the two of them are like two sides of the same coin. Merlin is well, as far as I know. Still up to his same tricks."

"You know?" Hunith asked in surprise, her heart beginning to pound in terror for her son. If this man knew, then how many others? Magic was punishable by death in Camelot. He would be killed!

"I do, but I would protect the secret with my life,” he quickly assured her, likely seeing the panic in her eyes. “He is safe in Camelot.”

Hunith couldn’t help but trust the honesty in his voice and sighed in relief. She still worried for Merlin, of course; that was her job as a mother. Right now though, her son was not here, and another young man looked like he needed her help more. She recognized the look in Lancelot’s eyes; he was as heartbroken as he was lost.

“Good. Now, eat up while I fix you up a pallet.”

“Then you intend to allow me to stay?”

"Of course. Any friend of Merlin is welcome here for as long as you wish. Though you'll have to earn your keep."

"As long as it's through farming, rather than fighting,” he said. There was a note of bitterness in his voice and one of self-recimination as well.

"I thought you said you were a knight,” she asked in confusion.

"Briefly. I was a cage fighter for longer. I forgot myself. But I’ve remembered now and I’ve made an oath that I will fight only for a cause for the rest of my days.”

"If I ever ask you to fight, it will be for a good reason," Hunith assured him, coming over to rest a hand on his shoulder. Her son was clearly right; Lancelot did need a mother.

“Thank you, my lady.” She smiled, deciding not to correct him this time as she went to fetch some straw for Lancelot’s bed. In the barn, she wondered whether she should make him sleep out there, at least for a night or two until she could be certain she could trust him. She quickly cleared her head of such a notion. Merlin had asked her to look after his friend, and she couldn’t do so if he wasn’t beneath her roof. After filling a large sack with the soft straw from the bottom of the pile, she took it back to the house. Lancelot had finished his meal and was removing his chainmail. The padded shirt he wore under it rode up as well, revealing a long cut across his back and a number of other smaller scars. He turned around quickly when he heard her come in, immediately covering himself. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think-”

“It’s alright, Lancelot,” she assured him. “Do you need help taking off your mail?”

“If you would be so kind,” he agreed, ducking his head and looking at the ground. Hunith didn’t have much experience with chainmail, just the one time Will had gotten trapped in his father’s armor and needed her help getting out before his mother saw. Lancelot was decidedly less wriggly than he had been, and the process much faster, though nearly as awkward. After he was out of it, he folded the armor shirt carefully and placed it in the corner beside his sword and then his boots. He insisted that he lay out the pallet himself. "You've done more than enough, my lady." The woman fixed him with her most scolding motherly glare. "Hunith," he corrected himself with a small amused smile.

"Good night Lancelot," she said as she retired to her own bed.

"Good night," he replied. She put out the candle and waited for the sound of his breathing to even out in sleep before closing her own eyes. Outside, an owl cried "Whooo newww," as if asking about the stranger, and in her mind, she answered "Lancelot."


	2. Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot is introduced to the villagers of Ealdor.

Lancelot was gone when the dawn light through the window woke Hunith. She might’ve thought that he had left some time during the night, except a small fire was burning in the hearth, some porridge cooking in a pot over it, and his sword and chainmail still glinted in the corner. She quickly got out of bed and pulled on her shoes; if he was outside alone, he could easily run into trouble with the villagers and she didn’t want them to form an impression of who he was and why he had been in her house before she had a chance to explain.

She didn’t have to go far to find him; in fact, she almost ran into him as soon as she opened the door. He was sweeping the stoop. He must’ve figured that since that’s what she had been doing when he interrupted her, it still needed to be finished. His work was hampered slightly by the group of little boys crowded around him.

“Oh, good morning Hunith,” he said cheerily.

“What happened then?” Benn demanded. He was the most curious boy in the village, so it wasn’t a surprise that he had quickly latched onto the newcomer. “Did the wildeorren get you?” Lancelot must’ve been telling them a story before she interrupted.

“Well obviously not, I wouldn’t be standing here if it had,” he replied, sweeping at the boy’s feet playfully and making him dance backwards away from the broom. “No, that’s when Merlin saved me.”

“ _ Merlin _ ?” Owen, one of the older boys, asked. “But he’s so clumsy, how could he save anyone?”

“Well, it wasn’t just Merlin. Prince Arthur was there too.”

“Prince Arthur! Wow! He saved us too, last year, when the bandits came,” Benn announced. 

“Really?  _ You _ will have to tell  _ me  _ that story some time.”

“We saved ourselves,” Olwene, Hunith’s neighbor, corrected from where she was sweeping her own stoop. She was Matthew’s widow and would not allow his sacrifice to be ignored. Now running the farm on her own, she usually didn’t have time to sweep her stoop, so Hunith suspected that she’d only come out to spy on the newcomer to town. “Arthur may have brought the swords, but it was us who lost people, and Will who really drove them away.”

“Who’s Will?” Lancelot asked.

“He was a sorcerer, and he summoned up a tornado and threw all the bandits into the air!” Benn explained. Lancelot turned to look at Hunith, silently asking whether that was true. She shook her head sadly. Misjudging Will was one of her biggest regrets; instead of revealing Merlin’s secret, he’d confessed himself to keep him safe. She lamented not having had time to thank him and tell him she was proud of him before he died.

“What happened then?” Lancelot asked, turning back to Benn.

“Well, um, Will died,” the kid replied, his exuberant tone fading. “Which was really sad, because he used to make up the best games for us to play and take us on adventures in the forest!” After Hunith had sent Merlin away, the only other teenager in the village had clearly been lonely, and had taken on the role of shepherding all the younger boys around. At the time, the adults had still thought of him as a trouble maker and their ringleader, but now in hindsight they acknowledged that Will had actually done a good job of keeping the children busy and out of everyone’s hair. Even if they did let loose all the pigs that one time. “Do you know any good games?” Benn asked, jumping from a hard topic to a happier one in the typical way of children.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Lancelot admitted. “When I was your age, I spent most of my time training to fight.”

“Woah, like with a sword?” Rhys, a quieter boy, asked.

“Of course with a sword, how else would he fight the wildeorren?” Benn retorted. Rhys shoved him and Lance very quickly stepped in to break them up before the freshly swept stoop devolved into a brawling ground.

“I never finished telling you that story!” he distracted them. “But I guess you don’t want to hear how we defeated the vicious beast and the evil Hengist.”

“No, we do!” Both Benn and Rhys objected immediately. 

“Just one second,” he said, smiling at them before turning to Hunith. “I’m sorry. Let me just finish this story and then I can help you with whatever you need.”

She shook her head. “I’m fine for today. You should let them show you around and introduce you to everyone.” There would be no faster way for him to get into the good graces of the villagers than by making friends with their children, especially if he kept them out of trouble for awhile. Without Will around anymore, they were sorely in need of a guiding influence beyond their parents. Hunith took the broom from him and immediately Rhys grabbed hold of his free hand.

“Thank you,” Lancelot said to her before allowing himself to be dragged away by the boys. “Now, where was I?”

“The cage!” Benn shouted excitedly.

“And Merlin and Prince Arthur!” Owen added. After that, Hunith only saw her guest twice before dinnertime. Once in the orchard, supervising a sword fight conducted with sticks as makeshift weapons, and once on a ramble through the fields, kids all around him and little Rosie, who was only two, sat securely on his shoulders. The toddler was usually very skittish around people other than her (very protective) mother, so Lancelot must have done something to prove himself and gain the trust of both of them. Hopefully, he wouldn’t fall too far into Will’s old role and the kids would actually leave him free to help in the fields once the novelty of him wore off. Seeing him so readily accepted into Ealdor made Hunith happy though, and apparently it had the same affect on him; he was smiling each time she saw him and when he came home that night.

When the owl cried, “Whoooo, whoooo,” that night, Hunith answered, “Lancelot, a natural big brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave Will a little extra backstory, because I could.


	3. Chickens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot has a pretty varied skill set, but unfortunately, his talents lend themselves more to fighting than to farming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like Lancelot, I don't know much about farming in the 6th century in England, so please excuse any inaccuracies.

As well as being good with children, Lancelot turned out to be skilled at making soups and other simple meals, chopping firewood, tending horses, trapping game, and mending torn clothes, and he claimed to be adept at carving wood, though he had lost his knife in his most recent escapade. He confided to Hunith that he had been fending for himself, more or less, since the age of just eight. To survive, he had taken any odd jobs that had come along, including as a servant to a kind lord that had allowed him to train with his soldiers and who had gifted him a sword shortly before passing away. After that, he’d made his way through the world mostly as a mercenary. Given his early varied experience, however, Hunith expected him to be at least somewhat knowledgable about farming, and instructed him accordingly.

“I’ve arranged for us to borrow Drysel’s horse and plow today,” she said to him in the morning. “If you could go retrieve them while I tend to the chickens, that would be wonderful. You remember where his house is, right?”

“I do, but I’m afraid I don’t know how to hook up a plow, or to use one for that matter,” Lancelot admitted. Hunith frowned. It was already going to be tight to get all of the sowing done today, and teaching him would take some time.

“I suppose I can start with the plowing, then, if you would tend to the chickens.”

“Alright,” Lancelot agreed and they set about their respective tasks once they had finished breakfast. When Hunith returned with the horse and wheeled plow, however, it was to a far greater spectacle than should have been involved in gathering eggs. The children had turned against their friend and were sat about the stone wall laughing as two hens and a rooster chased Lancelot about the yard.

“Benn, Rhys!” she shouted at the kids. “Aren’t you going to help him?” The two jumped down from the wall, still laughing, and easily scooped up the two hens. The rooster was a bit more ornery and chased Lancelot until he dived over a fence to escape him. “What happened?” Hunith asked the former knight as he lay on the ground trying to regain his breath.

“I don’t know, they just attacked me when I tried to collect their eggs,” he explained as he got to his feet. Benn and Rhys let their respective hens go and climbed back over the wall to Lancelot. They were both still giggling.

“He didn’t feed them first, and then he went into the coup! An’ the rooster was sleeping inside so he reached under it looking for eggs!” Benn announced smugly, causing Rhys to cackle in laughter again.

“Wait, there’s an order for how you have to do this? I thought you had to just scatter some grain for them to eat and collect the eggs.”

“Well, that’s the basics of it, yes,” Hunith agreed. “But they do get peckish when they’re hungry, and it’s generally best to use the nesting box doors instead of going into the coup itself, to keep your boots cleaner if nothing else.”

“And you gotta tell which is a boy chicken!” Benn added ‘helpfully.’ Hunith shot him a scolding look and the two boys ran off.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed you knew what you were doing,” she apologized and realized that was probably not the right thing to say as Lancelot blushed bright red in obvious embarrassment. “I suppose it isn’t intuitive if you didn’t grow up on a farm.”

“I think I’m better with wild plants and animals than domesticated ones,” he admitted. “But I’m a quick learner, I promise.”

“Good. Let me show you how to access the nest boxes and then we’ll go work in the field.”

True to his word, Lancelot did seem to pick up the new knowledge quickly. He generally only had to make a mistake once before avoiding it and he had a good eye for telling which plants were weeds versus crops by their leaf shape due to his practice foraging for wild plants. However, he had nearly no knowledge about crops. Farming was one of the few things he hadn’t done. The biggest mishap was when he ran the plow directly into a large stone and nearly broke it, but it turned out alright in the end.

That night, when the owl asked “Whoooo,” Hunith replied, “Lancelot, a knowledgable man with a lot left to learn.”


	4. Compassion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A thief begins stealing from the people of Ealdor, and Lancelot is tasked to track them down. He does rather the opposite.

Olwene’s larder was the first victim. The poor woman was already run off her feet trying to manage her farm and look after her kids alone, and many in the village believed she had simply slipped up in her exhaustion and had just left her cellar door open for the animals to break in. They ignored the fact that the larder was left clean and organized, with no mess like a badger or fox would cause. The villagers began to pay more attention when a chicken disappeared from Hunith’s locked coup with no sign of damage and a slab of bacon went missing from the smoke house.

Lancelot had been in Ealdor for several months, so thankfully he had passed beyond suspicion as a thief by that time. Instead, he offered to investigate, as he had some experience with tracking game and the like and figured that would also apply to humans. Hunith let him take some time off from working in the fields to do so, and he quickly tracked the thief out to where he was hiding in the forest.

“He seems to have moved on,” Lancelot said when he returned to Hunith’s house that night. “I followed his trail pretty far into the forest. I’ll stay up tonight, though, and keep an eye out on the village. You don’t mind if I save my dinner to eat a little later? I’ll need the energy later in the night.”

“It’ll be cold then, but if that’s what you want, of course,” Hunith agreed. “Where are you going to stake out the village from?”

“Oh, um, I was thinking from behind the… maybe the smokehouse,” he said. “There should be a good view of the ovens from there, and the thief may look for a loaf left in there that he could steal.”

“Sure, maybe,” Hunith agreed. “Good luck. Be safe.” Lancelot nodded and headed for the door, his bowl in one hand. “You aren’t going to take your sword?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Thanks, almost forgot it,” he agreed, clearly flustered, before fetching the sword from the corner where it leaned against the wall. “I was thinking about wearing my chainmail, before I realized it would be easy to see in the moonlight, so I almost forgot my sword too,” he explained before taking his leave. Hunith wondered if she should wait up, but then again, he hadn’t said when he was going to be back. She went to bed, locking the door behind her. Lancelot would understand. He could knock on the door if he wanted to come in, but she realized he never would. It was a warm enough night that he would be okay sleeping outside, and he would want her to be safe. Despite knowing that though, it took her a long time to fall asleep.

In the morning, Lancelot was tending the chickens when she went outside. He didn’t look overly tired.

“Where’d you sleep?” Hunith asked.

“Oh, I found a nice soft patch of earth out in the fields after I was reasonably sure the bandit wasn’t going to come back.” He passed over the egg basket, which was about half as full as usual.

“Is this it?”

“Yeah. Just a bad day for them, I guess,” he said, and she didn’t miss the way he kept one hand behind his back, or the way his stomach growled. If this was the way he attempted to keep secrets, it was probably a good thing that he wasn’t in Camelot anymore. He might have revealed Merlin’s magic not out of malice but sheer ineptitude.

“That happens sometimes,” she said simply and brought the eggs he had given her inside to cook for their breakfast. If she threw in a few extra, that was just because he had a lot of work to do today and should be well fed, not because he was clearly skipping other meals to give them to some poor soul hiding out in the woods so they wouldn’t be forced to steal from the villagers.

That afternoon, he wondered aloud if they needed more firewood. “I can go into the forest and chop some,” he suggested.

“Speaking of chopping firewood, I heard they were looking for a woodcutter over in Everwick,” Hunith replied. She hadn’t actually heard any such news, but she knew they had a pottery kiln there and that many people in the town were rich enough to hire someone to chop their wood for them, so it was a reasonable guess. She knew the statement wasn’t subtle, but then again, neither was Lancelot. “It’s hungry work anyway. Let me pack you some snacks to take with you.” She filled a small sack with some apples, a couple of beets, sausages, and a small loaf of bread.

“Thank you,” he said as he took it from her. “Um, which direction does Everwick happen to be in, out of curiosity?”

“To get there, you would go north until you reached the river and then follow it downstream,” she explained. She had thought Lancelot might’ve known how to get there, given his extensive traveling, but she supposed he couldn’t have gone everywhere just like he couldn’t be good at everything. He was late coming home, and the explanation he gave was that he was setting up some game traps. Hunith didn’t believe it for a second. Or rather, if he was setting up traps, he was teaching someone else how to do it so they could feed themselves without him looking out for them.

“Whoooo,” the owl asked when they went to bed not long later, and she replied, “Lancelot, who is compassionate above all else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The thief may or may not be Percival.


	5. Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With winter comes too much time to think, which has repercussions for both Hunith and Lancelot.

After the third week of doing not very much at all, Hunith realized that Lancelot had never experienced winter before. He’d seen snow, of course, and felt the biting cold, but the boredom of being trapped inside the house with the animals while blizzard after storm raged outside was clearly new to him. When she asked about his restlessness, he explained, “I’m used to winter being a time of activity. I had to search harder for food and travel farther for work. Staying active was the only way to stay warm out in the elements.”

It became clear that Lancelot needed to stay busy like a fish needs water and the daily trips out to the forest to cut extra firewood, even when he started making multiple trips to provide for other families as well, just weren’t cutting it. After a bit of searching, Hunith found out that Barlon owned a small carving knife and she traded her metal spoons for it, as Lancelot could carve them new wooden ones. He was immensely grateful for the gift and put extra care into the utensils in return, carving them with hearts at the ends. In addition, he made a rattle for Guenelte’s new baby and toys for all the children of the village. He sharpened the little carving knife every day, along with his sword, the axe, and any other tool or weapon anyone in Ealdor brought him, and when that work ran out he worked with Hunith mending clothes. All of that kept him busy, at least, but the cold and darkness was still getting to him, and he perpetually seemed melancholy and sad.

“What are you thinking about?” Hunith asked him when a rare small smile graced his face while he was sewing. 

“Guinevere,” he replied. He was embroidering little forget-me-nots onto the sleeve of a hand-me-down summer dress that Rosie would grow into by summer. She wondered if it was the flowers or the reminder about memory that had made him think about the woman.

“I remember her. She’s very beautiful and kind.” Strong as well, and with the same inclination to be busy as him.

“She is the best woman I have ever known. Besides you, my lady,” he charmed, and Hunith couldn’t help but blush.

“Are you two-” she began to ask, but Lancelot shook his head before she finished the question.

“She is in love with Arthur, and he with her. I vowed to not come between them.” Hunith had seen the look in his eyes before, on Balinor. It was the look of a man who had chosen duty and the happiness of others over his own. A man who would leave the ones he loved for them.

“And to do so broke your heart,” Hunith guessed. It wasn’t a guess, really. She remembered watching as Balinor made up his mind to leave her and baby Merlin and holding him afterward as he cried. Lancelot hadn’t had anyone to hold him, unless her son had given him a hug before sending him to her. He nodded, and a couple of tears were shaken loose by the movement and fell onto the dress. She gently took the needle from his fingers so he didn’t stab her or himself when she pulled him against her body. His hair felt was like Merlin’s as she ran her hand through it, soft as it curled around her fingers. He cried more quietly than her boy, though. When Merlin sobbed, it was muffled only by her dress, but Lancelot, it seemed, cried expecting not to be cared for and trying not to be heard. It was more of a stuttering of breath than anything, accompanied in rhythm with his hands clenching around the fabric of the back of her dress, and when he pulled away from her, his eyes looked strained from being held closed so tightly. Hunith smoothed out the creases in his forehead with her thumb even as he tried to duck his head away from her.

“You remind me of my husband,” she said softly. “Balinor. He was a brave man; one had to be when dealing with dragons. I think the only thing he was really afraid of was losing the people he loved. Me and Merlin. When the Purge started though, he gave us up, leaving so that we would be safe. It hurt him, but in the end I hope he knows it was worth it, because we were safe. They may not see it now, but one day Gwen and Arthur will know the same thing about their happiness and your sacrifice.”

Lancelot just nodded, turning to look at the fire crackling in the hearth. It was the only light in the room since they’d boarded up the windows for the winter, and so it was impossible to tell whether it was night yet unless they opened the door. Deciding it didn’t really matter, Hunith cooked them some dinner and went to bed. Lancelot stayed up for some time, sitting beside the fireplace carving. He made sure to keep his wood shavings in a little pile where sparks wouldn’t hit them and they could be used as kindling later.

The call of the owl was muted by the thick blanket of snow that lay outside and over the roof, but Hunith still heard its soft “whooo” and answered, “Lancelot, a heartbroken man, too familiar to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to end the 5 on kind of a downer. The +1 is a bit more humorous, I promise.


	6. Camelot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set between seasons 3 and 4. Hunith comes to visit Merlin, Gaius, and Lancelot in Camelot.

Lancelot adjusted his stance warily as Gwaine circled. The humorous knight was often his most formidable opponent when they sparred, as his joking reminded Lance of Benn and he often lost track of the fact that he was fighting a well-trained soldier instead of a child with a stick. He was determined this time to not be distracted and had even made sure that Gwen was busy today, so she wouldn’t walk out onto the training field and pull his gaze away for even a moment.

His plan might’ve worked too, if not for Merlin’s shout of “Mother!” Lancelot turned sharply, allowing Gwaine to whack his arm. Even with the blunted training sword, it hurt and would leave quite a bruise, but he couldn’t care less. Hunith stood just inside the castle’s main gates, looking somewhat lost. Merlin was clearly about to run over to her, until he was tackled by Arthur. 

“That’s what you get from being distracted during practice,” the Prince was saying as he sat on his manservant, and as it seemed like he wasn’t going to be able to go greet her, Lancelot dropped his sword and ran to her instead. She squeaked a little when he picked her up and pressed a kiss to her forehead but overall she didn’t seem to mind.

“Let me go, you prat, that’s my mother,” they heard Merlin yell and Arthur must’ve taken pity on him because the skinny manservant was soon squeezing between them to hug Hunith.

“That’s Merlin’s mother?” Elyan asked. “But she’s so pretty.”

“I thought she was Lancelot’s,” Leon agreed.

“Wait, she’s not? Why’d he go hug her like that then?”

“Are you saying Merlin and Lancelot are brothers?” Gwaine asked.

“No, of course not,” Arthur retorted harshly. “I don’t know how Lancelot knows Hunith.”

“You know we’re still right here and you could just ask, right?” Merlin asked, turning to talk to the knights.

“Hunith took me in after the incident with the wildeorren,” Lancelot explained, laying an arm casually around the woman’s shoulders. “I lived with her in Ealdor until Merlin sent word that you needed help here.” He turned to Arthur. “Permission to be excused from training, and to claim one of the guest bedrooms for Hunith to stay in.”

“Of course,” Arthur agreed.

“Does that mean I can have the rest of the day off too?” Merlin asked hopefully. The look Arthur shot him answered it, and he sighed disappointedly. “I should have known. I’ll join you for dinner, Mother,” he promised, kissing her cheek.

“Nonsense, we’ll have a feast for her,” Lancelot said, and normally he would never be so audacious as to suggest a celebration without the Prince’s prior approval, but this was for  _ Hunith _ . “Don’t worry, I’ll arrange everything.”

“You really don’t have to,” Hunith tried to object, to which Lancelot just took both her hands in his very gently and looked steadily into her eyes.  
“I want to, my lady,” he said softly. “Please. You shared your home with me when I had nowhere else to go; now let me show you what my home has to offer.”

“Are we sure she’s not his mom?” Gwaine whispered, louder than he probably thought he was speaking.

“Yes. No one’s that formal with their mother,” Elyan countered.

“Except Lancelot,” Gwaine retorted, to which there was a small chorus of agreeing hums.

“If you insist,” Hunith finally relented, and her surrogate son smiled. He took her bag from her to carry himself and held her arm with his other hand as he led her into the castle. After setting her up in the quarters usually reserved for visiting nobility and sending Gwen over to her to help her find a nice dress that wouldn’t be dirty and itchy from the road, he went down to the kitchens to arrange the feast. He couldn’t put together anything too fancy on such short notice, but within a couple of hours, enough food to feed a small army (which was important with Percival around) was served in one of the smaller banquet halls. Along with Hunith, Prince Arthur, Guinevere, and the knights of the Round Table, Merlin was in attendance as a guest instead of a servant. Lancelot insisted that he be allowed to simply enjoy the time with his mother.

His actions belied his words, though, as for much of the night, the knight ended up hogging Hunith to himself. He wanted to know everything that was going on in Ealdor, including what each and every one of the children were up to. The conversation was deeply uninteresting to anyone except the two of them, since no one else except Merlin really knew the people they spoke of. Even he didn’t know some of the little ones, who had been born after he had left. Accordingly, everyone perked up when they overheard Lancelot ask whether Rosie still grew more beautiful by the day, assuming that she was a young maiden Lance had fallen for and wondering why he had never mentioned her before, and they were very disappointed to learn that she was simply a toddler that the knight-turned-babysitter had bonded with. Eventually Hunith herself had to remind him that she had come to Camelot to see how Merlin and Lance were doing, and she actually wanted to hear about them instead of just describing Ealdor.

The discussion of the state of Camelot inevitably led to mentions of the immortal army. Hunith was devastated to learn of Morgana’s treachery, as she had very much liked the noblewoman who had risked her life to defend her village. Lancelot hung his head, ashamed that he had neglected to tell her of the reason Merlin called him back to Camelot. It had slipped his mind as he readied himself for travel and war and debated whether to go fetch Percival from Everwick, but it might’ve saved her some grief and the embarrassment of crying in front of the knights, though they were all very polite about it. Arthur, who Lancelot watched closely, seemed on the verge of a breakdown himself, and he was reminded that it was less than a month since the woman he grew up and at one point intended to marry was revealed to be his sister and, far worse, had betrayed him and taken over his kingdom. After the feast. Hunith stayed behind to talk to the Crown Prince, and Lancelot caught a glimpse of her giving him a hug from the doorway. At first, he didn’t seem to know what to do with the gesture, but he soon relaxed into it and buried his face in her shoulder like a child. He was reminded that Arthur had grown up without a mother just like him.

As he was laying in bed that night, after escorting Hunith back to her chambers, the hinges on a door down the hall from him squeaked as a servant opened them. They sound was reminiscent of a long, mournful “whooo,” as if it was asking about the guest in the castle. “Hunith,” Lancelot replied, “The best mother in all of Albion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it! I think out of everything I've written in recent months, I'm actually the most proud of this fic. It would mean a lot to hear what you thought of it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear what you think!


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